


Fading

by Shadow_Of_A_Smile



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alone, Depression, France - Freeform, Gen, Paris - Freeform, Sad, Smiles, Suicide, con man, lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Of_A_Smile/pseuds/Shadow_Of_A_Smile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Great con men never die, our smiles just fade away."<br/>-Mozzie</p>
<p>Peter and Mozzie know he's alive, but they never try to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading

The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making him feel very alone in this new town. He leaned against the balcony, watching the people drift by, listening to the constant hum of their French conversations, to the shrill laughter that floated high above them, making its way to his waiting ears. Paris was a big city, an interesting city, but none of it really felt like home. Not in the same way New York had.

He turned around, sick of the sight of society. He had always thrived surrounded by people, had been the expert on human interaction. But it wasn’t what he wanted any more. The hollow smiles, the charming glances, the whole act. Never in his life had Neal Caffrey felt like a fake, not until he moved to Paris. Talking to people was no longer fun, not in the way it used to be. Making them smile brought him no joy. He craved a deeper, real connection, something he could hold onto. Something like what he had in New York.

There were pictures on his mantel, the only part of the apartment that wasn’t authentically French. He lifted one now, a picture of the whole White Collar division. He could remember that chapter of his life so clearly that he could almost hear the general ruckus of the office, could almost smell the terrible coffee that they all relied on. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing himself just a moment to remember them before he set the picture down on the mantle once more. It hurt to remember how good he used to have it.

Luckily, Paris was a good city for forgetting. Wine was cheap, and even cheap wine was good. He could drown himself in alcohol, just has he had done for those few weeks after realizing that they weren’t coming. But wine reminded him of Mozzie, and on bad days, it reminded him of Kate. On bad days he would curl up on his couch with Kate’s bottle and run his fingers over the map she had left him. He would drink cheap wine from an expensive bottle and wonder exactly when his life had become what it was. When he had become someone not even worth chasing.

There was other alcohol of course. Stronger alcohol that would make the memories fade so completely that he would get a glimpse of his real self. But there were so many memories, memories of cases with Peter, of forgings with Mozzie, of celebrations and of tragedies. It was hard to find an alcohol that didn’t mix the bitterness of bad memories with the bitterness of alcohol.

Maybe Paris wasn’t as good of a place for forgetting as he had hoped.

Neal walked across the room, stopping at his easel, where a forever unfinished painting still sat. It was meant to be a gift, but the recipient had never arrived to claim it, so Neal had never finished it. All there was for him to look at was the outline of a face, with a jaw set like peter’s and eyes that mirrored Elizabeth’s. Neal never planned on finishing. 

He had prepared a gift for Mozzie too. He had finished that one, checking every detail to make sure it was perfect. He had been certain Mozzie would come.

But the little bald man had never shown up. Neal had left the files saved on his computer, as if some part of him still thought Mozzie would show up demanding answers. He could imagine it so clearly, the way Mozzie would be angry that he had managed to trick him, but in the end he would forgive Neal, would understand his reasons. And then Neal would get out his present, the information he had been working so hard to gather. And Mozzie would be so happy, so surprised, that everything would go back to normal. 

But not even knowing Mozzie’s parents could help him win the man over if he never showed up.

There was a knock at the door, and Neal knew it was Eliza on the other side, no doubt needing a cup of sugar or flour from him. She was always baking, and Neal was her go to man for supplies. He always had them in stock, and always passed them on with a smile. She didn’t know he spoke English, didn’t realize that he understood her when she called him ‘the handsome stranger’ under her breath. She was just one person on the long list of people Neal was lying to.

He pulled open the door, greeting Eliza with a smile he didn’t really feel. Just like he expected, she was soon rambling about how she was making cookies and she desperately needed a cup of sugar. He used his nicest words, his smoothest smile, and was only gone for a second before returning with her sugar. It was a simple task, not even a con. But the muscle in his face were tired, and holding his smile was getting harder and harder.

“Thank you so much.” Eliza paused. “You may want to get some rest, you look really tired.”

It was all in French, but Neal was fluent. He understood every word of what she had said, understood that his mask had finally cracked, and that his smiles were finally failing. He couldn’t convince himself that he was happy anymore, but everything he had ever done had revolved around convincing other people of that. And for the first time, Neal had failed.

He could blame the bags under his eyes, and the sleepless nights. He could say he was just off his game lately, that everything was starting to take a toll on him. But no matter how upset Neal was, he had always been able to convince other people otherwise. It was the final nail in his coffin, the last sign the he needed that this was the right choice. 

He walked to his bedroom, looking around at the sterility of it. It was clean, but more than that, it was impersonal. Everything was done in a simple French style, just as it had been when he moved in. He hadn’t wanted to stand out. The bottle was sitting on his nightstand, along with a glass of water. He picked them both up. This wasn’t where he wanted to do it.

He took them to the couch. He could see the pictures from here, and the unfinished painting that still hung on his mantel. He could hear the faint sound of people laughing though the open patio door. He took one last look around the room, checked that the door was locked, and then took a seat.

It hadn’t been hard to get the sleeping pills. It had taken less than five minutes to convince the doctor that he needed sleeping pills, strong ones, and that he would continue to need them well into the foreseeable future. That had been five months ago, and Neal hadn’t taken a single pill.

He held one between his fingers, looking around his apartment. Feeling the air, seeing the pictures, hearing the sounds from the street below and smelling the faint aroma of baking cookies from Eliza’s apartment. He had a fleeting thought that it would all make a beautiful painting.

And then Neal swallowed the first pill.

He didn’t know how long he had before they took effect. He stared at the pictures on his mantel, his gaze lingering on one of Mozzie. It had taken weeks to convince Mozzie that a simple picture wasn’t the end of the world. Neal had printed the copy and deleted it from his camera, just like Mozzie had asked. Other than fake passport photos, Neal was fairly certain that it was the only time Mozzie had been voluntarily photographed. He had been careful never to lose the picture.

He swallowed a couple more pills, and his eyes turned to a picture of Diana, holding Theo. She was a good mother, Neal was sure of that. He didn’t know if she would always be perfect, but he did know that Diana would never lie to Theo in the same way Neal’s mom had lied to him.

Another three pills.

There was a picture of Clinton Jones too. Neal wondered if things were working out for him. If he was happy, if he had gotten a promotion. He wondered whether Jones had found a girl to marry. He deserved someone, someone good.

Five this time. This next one was hard.

It was Kate. Neal didn’t remember where he had gotten eh picture, but he loved the look on her face, the expression of pure happiness. That was all he had ever wanted for Kate, for her to be happy. He certainly hoped she was happy now, because he would be joining her soon.

He swallowed four more, and he was starting to feel a little tired.

Alex was next. They had been through so much together, so many lies and truths that it was hard to tell the difference between the two. They had a history, and even if it wasn’t always a good one, Neal wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.

Two more pills.

Sarah Ellis. Neal was pretty sure he had loved her. He was pretty sure she had loved him. If things had been just a little different…well, the possibilities were endless and Neal didn’t have time to dwell on them.

Two more.

Rebecca Lowe. He didn’t even know why he kept he picture. He didn’t need to see her face right now. Not when his time was limited.

An entire handful. His mind was starting to feel fuzzy, and he couldn’t count how many he forced down his throat in one gulp of water.

The Burkes were last. They were last because they meant more to him than most of the other’s, but also because their memories were all good ones. Ending with Mozzie would have reminded Neal of too many things he didn’t want to think about, which is why he had started with Mozzie. It wasn’t that the Burkes were more important to him. It was simply that they were important to him in a different way.

The Burkes had always believed in him, had always been there for him when he needed it. They had been like parents to Neal, role models and discipliners all in one. There were so many moments rushing through his head, memories of the good times, and of dinners at their house. He thought about the time that Elizabeth had invited him over to taste test a caterer, and the when he had broken into their house. He thought about cakes Elizabeth had made him, and about how Elizabeth had become unlikely friends with Mozzie.

He couldn’t help but smile as he followed the pills that were left in the bottle.

His eyes darted over to his unfinished painting. Eventually, it was supposed to be the a portrait of Peter and Elizabeth’s baby. He thought about how good of parents Peter and Elizabeth would make. He was getting tired, and his thoughts were getting hazier, but he kept remembering new things. Tiny moments that made him keep smiling, even as it became a struggle to keep his smiles strong. The sleeping pills were taking their toll.

Neal looked back at the picture of Peter and Elizabeth, and then shut his eyes. He could still see the picture in his mind, even as he became too tired to hold up the corners of his lips. They were so happy. 

So happy.

So happy.

So happy.

So happy.

That was how Neal’s eternal smile finally faded away.


End file.
